The Precious Teahouse

  “Don’t think about it.” San closed the distance between them and massaged his shoulders. “You’re so tense.”

  Ziyu closed his eyes as San’s strong fingers dug into his tight muscles making him moan softly. “Mm…it’s been so long since anyone did that for me.”

  “All you have to do is ask,” San murmured.

  Ziyu leaned back into San, his fingers combing through Cha’s fur. San mirrored his gesture, running fingers through his hair. Ziyu gave in to the comfort.

  *****

  Days turned into weeks, the Precious Teahouse blossomed. The teashop, with Jade at its helm grew and flourished. Ziyu enjoyed the challenge of filling the rare tea orders placed by their customers. Chen delighted him in the kitchen, creating new recipes, using tea in her food. Lee opened up, following San around, most especially when he went on major buying trips. San realized that Lee had a knack for business.

  Three months into his stay at the Precious Teahouse, San loved the time he spent in Ziyu’s company the most. Their relationship, he thought as he sat out in the garden enjoying the Sunday afternoon. Like aging the Pu’er Tea his father loved so much, they’d started fresh and shy. Hugs and simple gestures, he mused. He found peace sitting with Ziyu in his arms on the couch late at night, the cat purring at their feet. He loved watching Ziyu sleep, or simply doing the teahouse books at the dining table.

  He’d come to love helping Ziyu serve tea to guests, going with him to the market to get fresh produce for Chen. He enjoyed fighting with Ziyu over grocery prices, insisting that they‘d get them cheaper if they bought them straight from the farmers. He smiled remembering a silly argument about soap and towels on the floor in the bathroom. Ziyu was a spontaneous cleaner. He could go for a week letting things go, until one morning he’ll wake with an itch to clean.

  He’d woken up one morning when he’d first moved in, to find Ziyu scrubbing their bathroom furiously muttering about towels left unfolded on the rail. Next had been the living room, and the books San left on the coffee table. The cleaning spree had gone on to the kitchen, which had included a complete cupboard rearrangement. He’d run away from the tide and gone to hide with Chen downstairs. Miraculously, that afternoon, Ziyu had appeared all smiles and blushes ready for lunch.

  He chuckled. Like the Pu’er, he decided, their relationship was aging beautifully.

  Was it any wonder he was madly in love with the man?

  “San,” Ziyu said his name and he glanced up to find the younger man standing before him. “What are you smiling about?”

  San tugged on Ziyu’s arm pulling him onto his lap. Ziyu blushed and allowed it. San reached up, sinking his fingers into Ziyu’s hair, loving the soft texture. Gently, he brought Ziyu’s head down. Studying Ziyu’s slightly parted lips; he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Ziyu’s mouth. Kissing him gently, slowly, reverently, letting him know how much he mattered.

  He broke the kiss and looked up into Ziyu’s brown eyes smiling slightly. His heart squeezed in surprise when Ziyu responded by wrapping his arms around his neck and leaning down to kiss him hungrily, so passionately, it seemed their waiting period was over.

  *****

  Tea...is

  One of those rare treasures

  Enjoyed throughout the world

  Kit Chow

  All the Tea in China

  Eight

  “You look happy,” Chen said the next morning.

  San grinned wide as he helped her prepare a breakfast tray for Ziyu. “You told me to find my place in here.”

  “Looks like you found more than a place,” Chen teased arranging assorted egg sandwiches garnished with strawberries on two plates. “Ziyu is smiling more easily. The teahouse is making profit, you’ve helped turned us around. As far as I’m concerned, you are this tea house’s rare treasure.”

  “You did the work,” San replied with a wide smile. The Precious Teahouse was the rare treasure. Without it, he’d never have met Ziyu, and the family that worked here.

  “Regardless,” Chen paused in the act of placing a teapot on the tray, “without you, Ziyu faced a terrible decision. Thank you for helping us.”

  San met her dark solemn gaze and nodded in understanding. He could only imagine what losing the Precious Teahouse would have been for everyone. He was glad he’d helped.

  Chen added hot water to the teapot and closed the lid. “Now, enough about the past, go on, have a nice breakfast.”

  San picked up the tray and leaned to kiss her cheek. He hurried out of the kitchen, and went upstairs to their apartment. Cha greeted him at the door meowing like a maniac. She was hungry; he paused in the kitchen to put her milk.

  Cha happy, he carried his tray carefully to Ziyu’s bedroom. Ziyu was sprawled on the large bed, head buried under the pillows. San smiled as he settled the tray on the bedside table. Cha rushed in, jumped on the bed and on to Ziyu’s bare back. Ziyu shifted and Cha started purring.

  “Wake up, sleepy head,” San said taking Cha off Ziyu’s back. Ziyu groaned, holding a pillow to his face as he turned over on his back, the sheet around his waist slipping lower. Drawing San’s gaze to soft skin on the curve of Ziyu’s hip. Ziyu threw the pillow to the side and glanced at him with bleary eyes.

  “I made you breakfast,” San said when he managed to stop ogling Ziyu’s body. Cha dug sharp nails into his thigh and he let her go. “Chen made egg sandwiches, your favorite.”

  Ziyu smiled sleepily, he leaned over to take that smile in a kiss, softly brushing Ziyu’s lips with his. San closed his eyes when Ziyu reached up to run fingers through his short hair. Ziyu sat up slowly, answering his kiss with soft brushes of his own. He brushed his hands over Ziyu’s arms; he cupped Ziyu’s jaw and moaned in pleasure when their kiss finally deepened.

  “I can do this all day.” San smiled when they broke apart trying to catch his breathe. He touched Ziyu’s hair gently and pulled him into a hug. “We haven’t talked about us.”

  “Who needs to talk?” Ziyu asked his face buried into his shoulder. “There are no words needed, San.”

  Of course, Ziyu wouldn’t want to talk about their relationship, San smiled. “Words are needed sometimes, Ziyu. There are things I need to tell you, that you need to tell me.”

  “Why?” Ziyu pulled back slightly and shifted so that he was against the headboard. He pulled the sheet over his hips and San mourned the loss of a perfectly good view.

  Reaching for the tray, he placed it over Ziyu’s lap and set about opening the dishes. “I’m a planner, and I like it when everything is planned out.”

  Ziyu yawned, and rubbed his eyes. Cha perched on the pillow beside Ziyu purring loudly. They were such a pair. “Okay, what is do you want to say?”

  San held out a cup of tea to Ziyu. “Take a sip, you’re still sleepy.”

  Ziyu took the cup, sipped and smiled at San. “You’re so serious, San. I don’t think I’ll ever get over this side of you. What is bothering you?”

  “Nothing,” San said quietly watching him. Ziyu’s brown eyes, his unruly hair, and oval face; he reached out and ran a finger over the dark shadow on Ziyu’s jaw. First time he’d seen Ziyu, he’d thought him too young to shave. “Do you remember what I told you about my father and his Pu’er tea when we first met?”

  Ziyu placed his cup on the tray and tackled the sandwiches. “Your father wanted you to bring his tea to our Teahouse, but you went around trying to find another suitable place.”

  “You’re never going to let me live that one down.” San smiled when Ziyu gave him a small smile. “It’s to be expected. You’re so filial, Ziyu.”

  “I can’t help it,” Ziyu shrugged. “You have been with us three months, helping and making this tea house better. I owe you. How can I help with your father?”

  “Do you remember the promise our fathers made to each other?”

  Ziyu placed his sandwich on a plate and pointed to a writing desk by
the window. “Top drawer, you’ll find a stack of letters there.”

  San placed his own teacup on the tray and went to the desk. He pulled out the drawer and paused when he found a very large stack of old letters tied together with a grey ribbon. Taking them out, he turned to Ziyu in question.

  “I read them sometimes. Your father wrote to mine about his tea farm and his family. You,” Ziyu smiled, “his love for you is very clear in those letters.”

  San carried the letters to the bed. He sat on the bed shifting until he was facing Ziyu. Legs crossed under him, he undid the ribbon holding the letters together.

  Ziyu ate breakfast while he read the old letters. His father’s words were full of passion for his farm, excitement when he got it right, disappointment when he failed. Stories about him and his mother, San smiled memories flooding him.

  He’d grown up thinking he wanted to be nothing like his father. He’d complained about learning to pick tealeaves, how to inspect the leaves. He’d made a fuss when his father had forced him to work in the tea-processing factory. His father, however, spoke of it like an adventure.

  San walks with me at dusk through the fields, racing along the paths between the rows of tea plants, his energy mind-boggling. There will come a day when I must leave all this to him, but for now, I find myself smiling watching him collect stones and try to hit the birds above.

  San put the letters down and glanced up to meet Ziyu’s gaze.

  “You want to ask if I know how to do tea painting,” Ziyu said quietly.

  San nodded dropping his gaze to the letters on his lap. He’d make his father’s wish come true, he decided. They might not see eye-to-eye, but certain things, like this-, he glanced at Ziyu. “Can you?”

  Ziyu sipped his tea. “You fought with your father about the Pu’er, and I fought with my father about tea painting. I can do it, but since my parents died, I haven’t done it. It was too painful.”

  “Fought with your father?” San asked surprised.

  Ziyu sighed and shook his head. “I too wanted a life away from this tea house once. Away from the family and the same old things, my sister went to the capital and I wanted to go away to learn art.”

  No wonder Ziyu held on to the teahouse so tightly. Guilt, he thought with a sigh.

  Ziyu stared into his tea. “When I got the call about their accident, all I could remember was fighting with my father about tea painting. I was in my last year of college. They were both so proud of my work. Father kept saying I would be so good at tea painting. How I could make that skill part of the Precious Teahouse.”

  Ziyu shook his head. “I didn’t want to do anything back here; I wanted to follow my sister in the capital. Make a name through painting and get a great apartment in the city-, when my parents died, the guilt.”

  “You have nothing to be guilty about, Ziyu.” San reached over the tray to take Ziyu’s hand. “Your parents would be proud of you if they say this Teahouse today.”

  Ziyu nodded his head down. “I don’t know if I can be as good as my father was with the tea painting. I’ll try it out, practice, but it won’t be as good as my father’s would have been.”

  San squeezed his hand. “As long as you try, that’s all that matters.”

  “What happens after I meet your father, San?” Ziyu covered his empty plate with his napkin and tangled their fingers. “Once I fulfill my father’s promise to your father, will you leave?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “No.”

  San clung to Ziyu. “Then I won’t leave.”

  “Even after the six months are done?”

  San smiled. “Even then,” he replied.

  Ziyu’s face lit up with happiness. “Then, let’s find out just how rusty I am with my painting. Have you ever seen Chabaixi?”

  San laughed and shook his head. “This will be my first time. You had better make it memorable, Ziyu.”

  *****

  Chabaixi....

  Delicate tea soup painting,

  Appreciated at the very instant of creation,

  For it dissipates quickly.

  Nine

  Ziyu was nervous. The last time he’d tried Chabaixi the pictures had turned into a disaster. San’s excitement was contagious. He’d infected Chen, Jade and Lee. His heart pounded at the smile on San’s face when he came into the kitchen followed by Jade and Lee.

  Chen had been right. He’d been blind to San until the man had planted a kiss on him.

  Love was hard to find, he’d long decided. So hard, that he’d almost given up on it. Through college, he’d gone through bad dates, unhealthy encounters with strange guys. His parents might have accepted him, but finding peers who understood him had been harder. What he hadn’t told San earlier was that his determination to move to the Capital tied to his need to fit in. The need to find love, and an environment that didn’t judge him for being who he was.

  When his parents died and he’d returned to the Precious Teahouse, he’d given up those dreams and taken up the fight to keep the teahouse going. Somewhere along the way, he’d shelved his dreams for love.

  “Ziyu,” San said touching his arm gently.

  He glanced up to find San watching him carefully. “You’re lost in your thoughts again. Where do you go?”

  Ziyu stared into dark eyes, a wave of emotion swamping him. “I can answer your question now.”

  San frowned in confusion. “What question?”

  “That first day I served you tea, you asked me if I believed in fated love.”

  Chen, Jade and Lee stood on the other side of the kitchen table gaping at him. He ignored them and flung his arms around San’s shoulders.

  “I know the answer now.”

  San chuckled and pulled him close. “What’s the answer?”

  Ziyu kissed San on the cheek and pulled back. “Yes.”

  Lee chuckled, Jade hid her smile with a hand over her mouth but her eyes were shining. Chen clapped happily.

  “I told you destiny would come to save us,” Chen declared.

  Ziyu wondered for the millionth time if she wasn’t really a sorceress.

  The kettle whistled and he pulled away from San. The table was set with all the tools he needed. San walked around the table to stand beside Chen. They all sat down on a bench while he went about mixing the tea soup. Tea dust made tea soup, unlike the tealeaves used for drinking tea. Grinded leaves that turned into a soup when mixed with hot water. He blended the mixture expertly, drawing on the memories of watching his father perform the same thing. When a nice foam appeared, he reached for a bamboo scoop and took in a deep breathe. This was the hard part, the technique intricate; he worked on bringing out bamboo trees swaying in the wind.

  When he was done, he placed his bamboo scoop back in the holder and looked up to find Chen, San, Jade and Lee gaping.

  “Is it bad?” he asked with a frown. He might have misshapen a few leaves on the bamboo, but the foam was clear.

  “Wow!” Jade broke the silence. “How did you learn to do that?”

  Ziyu sighed in relief. The shapes in the tea started to fade away and he shrugged. “My father used to make the pictures last for almost two hours. He taught me.”

  San pushed the bowl back to him and demanded. “Do another one.”

  Laughing, Ziyu spent the rest of the afternoon drawing rabbits, flowers, Chinese characters and butterflies in the tea soup.

  “My father will be impressed,” San said hours later. Chen was busy cooking. Jade and Lee were attending to customers out front.

  “Do you think so,” Ziyu asked staring at the tea soup as the forest of bamboo he’d just drawn disappeared in the liquid. “What about you?”

  San reached for the bamboo scoop and swirled the tea soup around. “We have a lifetime, Ziyu.”

  “A lifetime,” Ziyu said with a raised brow. “What do you plan to do with all that time?”

  San leaned over the
table to kiss him. A sweet kiss that sent warm thrills through him. “Discovering everything about you, Ziyu,” San said when he sat again.

  *****

  Meeting Dahari Meor was like sitting to tea with his own father, Ziyu thought two weeks later. Dahari was in his late fifties, had a ready smile, except when he was talking business with his son. His eyes burned with passion for his tea farm.

  San’s mother was warm; she reminded him of a day spent lying on the grass in an open field staring at the blue sky. She was easy to love. Where her husband was stubborn, she smoothed the way with smiles and a gentle nature that had him wishing for his own mother.

  San was lucky. To have both his parents still alive.

  “My son took his time,” Dahari said when they were seated for tea. “I was starting to lose hope that he might return with you.”

  Ziyu glanced at San with a smile. “He was helping me with the teahouse. Without him, I might have lost everything a few months ago.”

  San’s mother, Mei patted her son’s arm. “He’s always been a good boy.”

  San blushed slightly.

  Dahari nodded in approval. “You own the tea house now that your father is gone. I’m sorry for missing your father’s funeral. I’d have loved to have tea with him one last time. He and I had a lot in common.”

  Ziyu poured Dahari tea and bowed. “It will be my honor to hear the stories of your friendship.”

  Dahari laughed. “We were full of mischief, and got into trouble often. Our parents had a hard time keeping us in line.”

  “That sounds familiar.” Mei winked at San. “I’m glad he’s admitted that when you’re here San. I tried to remind him of his mischief days whenever he ranted about my dear San running off to swim at the river.”

  Ziyu chuckled and stole a glance at San. San reached under the table to poke his thigh.

  Clearing his throat, Ziyu fought to keep a straight face. “Because of you, he’s turned into a very responsible man. He’s so serious sometimes it’s scary,” Ziyu said with a laugh. “He’s very good with business.”

  “He should be,” Dahari noted, sipping his tea. “I had a hell of a time when he came back from college. We argued about every procedure in the factory, in the farm, in the accounts. I thought he was going crazy.”

  San gaped, making Ziyu and Mei laugh.